FUG
by OodlesWhatWhere
Summary: -An Ecce Romani fanfic- Davus is faced with the reality of Geta's punishment for trying to escape.


Disclaimer: I didn't write Ecce Romani. It was published over twenty years before I was born. That would be weird and impossible.

Also, I don't actually know how the whole branding thing happened. So I made it up. Enjoy if you want.

* * *

DAVUS SAT, HIS HEAD IN HIS HANDS, his whole body stiff. The barn was dimly lit, with only the partially open door illuminating its deceptively large depths. The overseer sat in the corner, on a slightly sagging hay bale, and stared unseeingly at the dirt floor beneath him.

He swallowed painfully and frowned, his eyes stinging. He could not cry. He _would _not cry. His shoulders began to shake slightly as the fierce Briton tried to suppress his sobs. What was there to cry about, anyway? Nothing important. Nothing that wasn't normal. Nothing that was wrong…

His whole body began to convulse as it was wracked with sobs. Davus let out a small, pitiful gasp as he began to sob profusely. He bit his lip hard, and tried to wipe away the tears from his face. But his coarse fingers merely pushed clumsily against his face as the tears continued to come, unwanted and too fast, gushing down his face and into his rough, dark beard. He couldn't make a sound. If he made a sound they might come and find him, and how would that look, the overseer crying in the barn?

It took several minutes for Davus to recover himself. He took several deep and steadying breaths, and wiped his face on his almost shapeless brown tunic. He ground his eyes into his palms as he rested his elbows on his knees. He opened his eyes wide.

There was nothing to look at in the barn except for the walls and floor. The overseer noticed a rusty nail on the floor, not far from his foot, and picked it up, turning it over and over in his hands. He was still breathing slowly, trying to get a hold of himself. He hoped they didn't call him soon; he could hardly leave the barn looking like he'd just been crying. He needed to give himself time so that his eyes could return to normal.

He also needed to give himself as much time as possible before he had to do… it. Davus shook his head frantically, as if he could throw the thoughts from his head. He didn't need to think about it until it happened.

But he thought about it anyway.

Geta had run away. _Geta had run away. _It was Geta's fault, not Davus'. It was the bloody fool's fault. Surely Geta would realise this? Surely Geta would understand that he _had _to? That if he didn't do it, he could get in trouble to, he could lose the respect and fear of the slaves, questions could begin to get asked…

"Argh!" Davus threw the nail in his hand away from him with as much force as he could muster. It landed somewhere on the other side of the barn; he heard its dull, almost non-existent sound of impact. It had not been very satisfying.

Geta had run away, so he had to receive the appropriate punishment. That was the law; that was what was expected from an overseer. If he didn't do it, other slaves might begin to think that they could get away with escaping, that they could get away with anything; Davus would appear weak. An overseer could not appear weak.

"Davus?" the call came from just outside the barn. Davus stood up hastily.

"What is it?" he barked, his voice slightly hoarse from the crying. He hoped the slave, whoever they were, wouldn't notice.

"Titus said it's ready…" a young slave, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, had stepped into the barn. He was tall and gangly, and the standard issue tunic they gave to farm labourers looked a very poor fit on him. Davus only vaguely recognised the boy- he must have been new. The slave squinted into the dim light, trying to make out the overseer in the shadows at the back of the barn.

"Right then," Davus said, striding forward quickly and boldly, as was his custom. He stopped in front of the slave, standing tall and with his shoulders squared.

The slave looked at him, slightly curious. "Sir, have you-?"

Davus snarled at the boy. "Are you about to ask an impertinent question, boy? Are you about to ask if I've been crying?"

The slave opened his mouth dumbly, looking terrified. He moved his head ever so slightly, and received a clout around the head for his trouble.

"I get one bit of hay in my eye and that's what you assume of me? Is that it? Look at me when I'm talking to you, boy!" He thwacked the slave around the side of the head again.

The boy looked sheepish, scared, and a bit indignant all at once. "No, sir, sorry, sir."

Davus only snarled again and pushed past the boy. The only thing that annoyed Davus more than insolent slaves was slaves that were also new. It felt good to let his anger out on someone.

He walked purposefully out of the barn and into the yard, shielding his eyes against the sudden bright sunlight. Several slaves were already gathered beside the small barn buildings, looking almost excited.

On his knees in the centre of the yard, next to an open water barrel, kneeled Geta, his hands tied behind his back and two burly slaves either side of him. Davus felt his stomach lurch.

He stepped towards Geta, but didn't look at the slave. Geta was not looking at him either.

"I thought you said it was ready?" Davus growled at the boy who had fetched him. He opened his mouth to reply when Titus burst suddenly from the small forge next to the barn. He was wearing thick leather gloves and was holding a glowing stick of metal with a thick cloth wrapped around its hilt.

"Tertius," Titus snapped, and jerked his head towards Davus. Another boy, a lot younger, hastened towards the overseer, and offered him a set of heavy and singed gloves. Davus took them, and he felt bile rising in his throat.

"Gag him," Davus ordered as he carefully took the rod from the smith, having pulled on the gloves. Even with the leather and thick layers of cloth, the metal was fearfully hot.

Geta had his head jerked back roughly by one of the slaves, who also held his shoulder, while the other forced him to open his mouth and thrust the leather bit in his mouth. They didn't want him biting off his tongue. Each man then gripped a shoulder firmly, one of them holding his head and forcing him to look up towards the overseer.

Davus took a long, deep breath. "Heed this punishment, slaves," he said, slowly and loudly, as he began to raise the brand in his hand. "This is what happens to slaves who defy their master, and try to run away." He and Geta make eye contact. "And are foolish enough to get caught," he muttered quietly to himself. Geta's eyes hardened and Davus knew that his lover had heard him.

Davus stared into his eyes. He tried to convey his emotion, his regret. Geta only glared at him, his eyes barely glistening.

Even with the gag in his mouth, Geta made an animal-like, heart-wrenching scream of pain in the back of his throat as the burning metal met his furrowed brow. He jerked back, but the slaves held him in place. Davus barely had to hold the brand there for a second, but it still felt like an eternity.

He threw the brand into the barrel, and the hiss of steam and stench of burning flesh followed him as he turned his back and strode away to the fields. 'FUG' had been branded on to Geta's face; self-hatred and disgust on to Davus' heart.


End file.
